


Caught Bare

by Arianissa



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Naughty Wench, Shouldn't Have Gone In, unintended voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22482331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianissa/pseuds/Arianissa
Summary: There was moaning from inside the room. On another day that may have given him pause. But this one had been long, tedious.Not like it would be the first time he had walked in on the damn bard with one of his whores anyway.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 334





	1. Chapter 1

There was moaning from inside the room. On another day that may have given him pause. But this one had been long, tedious. And Geralt's patience had been worn well and truly thin. Between false information, shitty attitudes and one utter arse of a spectacular time waster, he was honestly beyond giving a crap. Not like it would be the first time he had walked in on the damn bard with one of his whores anyway. 

The door swung open easily, barely a squeak despite the state of the rickety place they had found themselves in. Not so quiet on the returning slam though. There was a surprised, undignified noise at that, spawning a little bubble of sadistic self satisfaction in the frustrated Witcher. 

"Gera-aahnn!" It started as high pitched indignation. A familiar chastisement. Cut off into a strangled, reluctant moan. Geralt's hand had been half way to the coat peg with his cloak. The hand didn't move, even as his head spun dizzyingly fast to one of the room's two beds. And there was Jaskier, sprawled naked with a look of helpless mortification over his face. A beautiful young lady sat on one of his legs, hair cascading over her shoulders and equally nude. Save for the most smug of looks that Geralt thought he had even seen on a woman, directed right at him. There was all kinds of intended trouble swimming in those eyes. 

He dared flick his gaze back to Jaskier, looking for all the world like a cornered doe. A palm pinned his hip to the mattress, erection straining against his stomach, an arm between his legs, thin, elegant fingers disappearing into …

Geralt briefly registered the sound of his cloak hitting the floor. And then Jaskier was scrambling, scarlet faced, to try and sit, begging a reprieve from his companion. She didn't move, didn't seem to at least. Her eyes didn't leave Geralt, even as Jaskier flopped back against the bed, moaning even louder than before. 

"Oh Gods above-" He was trembling, dragging his arms over his face. Each gasp and moan and not quite held back thrust of his hips aggregated into something that Geralt was certain he would never be able to force from his memory. "You evil little… _ohh_ … fuck, _please_ …" 

The Witcher just stood there, frozen in place as Jaskier's hands shot to clutch at his pillow, garbled attempts of words clawing out his throat through the desperate moans. Stood there as those shifty bloody hips tried in vain to push past the hand that held them. Stood as Jaskier's cock twitched, _throbbed_ , against his belly and with a surge, erupted across his abdomen and chest. 

Geralt stared at Jaskier. At the grinning wench on his leg. Back to the bard, now staring back with an unfocused and mildly confused gaze. And walked himself and his own aroused arse straight back out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, there's more! Could this be plot? No, not likely XD
> 
> Have some more dumb shit anyway <3 
> 
> Arianissa x

It took three days, two hours, a barrel and a half of ale and a face full of monster guts before Geralt trudged his way back to that shitty little inn. He ordered a bath, ordered food, had yet more ale and delayed the inevitable for as long as possible. Which wasn't very long, what with the state he was in, the owner shooing him away as soon as the bath was ready. He took the stairs slowly, lingered outside the door. Listened _very_ carefully before daring to go in. 

Once Geralt had stepped into the empty room, seen all their travel gear neat against the wall, got eyes on the gloriously warm looking tub, he felt bloody daft. He was acting like a child. Loathe as he may be to admit it, he had been avoiding Jaskier after that little… _incident_. And what did it matter, really? It wasn't like he hadn't seen worse in his long life. Or been caught in worse. This prudish guilt was unnecessary and-

He looked at the beds. The memory hit him in the face like a wet fish. A very sexy wet fish. He groaned at his own shitty mind. _That's_ why he was avoiding the bard. That bloody face scrunched up in orgasm and the rest of the image that he was trying so hard to repress right now. How was he to deal with Jaskier when he couldn't even look at the damn bed without fighting off a hard on? 

Fuck this. Bath. 

Geralt stripped quickly, piling his blood-soiled clothes to the side. He would deal with them later. With an unceremonious splosh, he dropped into the tub and sank as far in as room would allow. Geralt let the water lap at his shoulders for a few minutes, achy muscles finally starting to ease. He let out a sigh, forcing the last of his tension out with it and then dipped below the surface. 

Cleaning away grime and gore took time but it was a familiar routine, a decades-old dance that afforded Geralt a small piece of calm. As he worked he allowed his mind a little space to wander. He really had seen worse. And of people far less pleasant to look at. Twisting in the bath, he let his eyes return to the bed. 

As infuriating as Jaskier could be, he did value the man's company. And he doubted there would be much left here to hold that fickle attention of his. If Geralt didn't get his shit together now, the bard was likely to be off with the next frivolity to take his fancy. 

Another sigh and Geralt closed his eyes, brows furrowed. This had to be the most ridiculous problem he had ever had to deal with. But deal with it he must. Once it was out of his system, he could face the idiot and off into the next ill advised endeavour they would trot. And what was the harm, really? 

With that thought and a frustrated grunt, Geralt let all the imagery he'd been holding back sweep over him. The red cheeks, the heaving chest. Hells, even the _smell_ of it. He dropped his hand below the waterline, wrapping fingers around himself, already so damn hard. Inhaling sharply as he started to move, Geralt realised that some of the scent still lingered about the room. Not so much the sex, while present it had dissipated in the days he'd been gone, but Jaskier's smell was clear. The memory became more vivid with it. 

Jaskier had been wound so tight, torn between stopping and chasing every shred of pleasure he could. Geralt almost wished he had seen more, seen every touch along his path to that point. Those thoughts pushed his hand faster, his breathing just a little harder. It was far too easy to imagine. The usually charismatic brat, used to wooing and pleasing, out of his element and control against a strong willed partner. Kept idle and helpless beneath palms set to drive him to madness. Touching his chest, arms, fingers, thighs. Teasing into that trembling mess he had become. 

_'Geraallt!'_

Geralt's thoughts were fuzzing, his free hand reaching to clutch at the rim of the bath. Heart beating far too fast for his chest, panting as he gripped his erection harder. He thought of Jaskier's own erection then, strong, unabashed and down right _gorgeous_ , as much as any cock could be called so. The way the bard's pulse had thrummed through it, every minute shift taken in by Geralt's overexposed senses. If he could have touched, _felt it_. 

_'...Please…'_

Geralt moaned, mind desperately scrambling to hold coherency in the face of the memory. In spite of his own imagination. Against the sounds that had been echoing in his ears for _days_. He felt helpless, as much so as Jaskier had looked sprawled over those sheets, clawing and keening. And the man's scent seemed only to strengthen as Geralt fell further and further into submission. _Gods_ , if the world ended now ...

The door opened. 

All at once the moment crashed down around him, stilling instantly in place as years of battle-earned instinct took hold. Geralt didn't even breathe, despite how his lungs burned for more air. He just sat there, in the now tepid water with flushed cheeks, hand around his cock, ripples yelling out his previous momentum and stared into Jaskier's shock-struck blue eyes.

"Uh… Geralt, hi…"

The Gods must be pissing themselves right now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I'm having fun with this. It's entirely dumb but I love it.  
> No smut this chapter but it will most definitely be back in the next one!  
> Ari x

Geralt was not a man used to idle bouts of stupidity. At least, not from himself. He chastised the behaviour even as his forehead still rested on the wood grain he'd smashed it against. There was a temptation there, to pull back just slightly and repeat the action. Several times if necessary. And oh did it feel necessary. But he resisted. 

Barely. 

It helped that Roach had taken it upon herself to check on him, nuzzling worriedly at the side of Geralt's head as she leaned over his shoulder. He did not deserve her. With a sigh, he let her win out, turning and patting at her neck as he lifted the oat bag he'd been reaching for when the urge to concuss himself had hit. 

With one last brush of her muzzle at Geralt's ear, she contented herself with her snack, leaving him to wallow as she swished her tail lazily. Roach was relaxed and that was something at least. She had grown used to this place readily. It likely helped that the stablehand was a soft touch with her and she was being spoiled rotten. That was something she did deserve. Blessed mare. She would be endlessly grumpy with him when it came time to leave. 

Not that Geralt knew when that might be. Part of him screamed for it to be _now, immediate and before you can make more of an arse of yourself!_ Logically, he knew that was the embarrassment of the whole situation weighing on him. After all, Jaskier had no way of knowing it was _he_ that Geralt had been fantasizing over. _He_ that had so enraptured the Witcher in that moment that his actual presence had gone unnoticed until it was too late. To the bard, he had simply walked in at a bad time, took stock of the perfectly normal male activity and retreated with a quick apology. Probably to the bar to wash the image away. That would be that. Simple. 

But not for Geralt. Oh no. Not for the man who, without moving, without _breathing_ , had nearly come the second his eyes met Jaskier's. And just like that, his grand solution had catapulted into an even grander internal conflict. 

That gorgeous concussion was calling out for him again. 

Distraction. That's what he needed. Something to occupy his brain until Jaskier strolled up to him, made some filthy comment about the state of the last few days and laughed the lot of it off. Geralt closed the stall door decisively, leaving Roach to her pampered little existence. She wouldn't mind a few more days here. He said his goodbyes to her, pushed a coin into the palm of the boy attending with honest thanks and left the stables. 

Geralt had no idea where he was heading or what he would do but he did need to shake this unnecessary guilt. After all, it _was_ a perfectly normal bodily function. And so what if he had pushed on to completion the moment the door closed? The fresh sight and scent pushing him over entirely. So what if the plan to rub one out and move on had backfired? The desire cementing itself firmly within him. So what if his mind couldn't leave well alone the thought of having the bard, totally and completely and _desperately_ , being over and in and- 

And… 

And Geralt stopped, mind and body, in the thoroughfare, totally oblivious to the disgruntled civilians bustling past him. There was something _familiar_. Something that put Geralt on edge despite him sensing no danger. He scanned over the people, stopping on waved golden hair beside one of the little stalls that lined the path. He knew it, didn't know how but he was certain. It fell over a plain, dirt-brown dress that somehow still flattered the body it clothed. Geralt was lost, mentally flailing against the torrents of confusion and emotion but finding no purchase there or in reality. 

Then a second woman was pointing to him, alerting the first to the strange and terrifying man blatantly staring at her. It hadn't been the hair nor the body, not even the face. It was those eyes. The eyes that, once turned to him and flared with recognition, morphed into a gleam of powerful, unrelenting, amused _pride_. It sent a shiver right down Geralt's spine. 

_Her._

The singular pivotal point of all his turmoil. 

She beckoned him over. Geralt did not want to go to her, hear what it was she wanted. And yet he still went, more cautious than this slim, unarmed wench warranted. His body was tense and the glare that settled across his features had scared even battleworn soldiers. Not this woman. She just watched him walk, completely unperturbed. There was an easy smile on her lips and a look in her eyes that sang the knowledge of all Geralt's conflicts. All his suddenly out of control desires. She understood it all. 

The Witcher shook his head, wanting to dislodge the paranoia. It was no use. Unreasonable as it was, it just felt too much like the truth. They were face to face now and she hadn't wavered. Geralt waited. He would not be the one to start whatever this was. After a deeply appraising look, she broke her silence with a smooth voice, softer than he was expecting. _Kinder_. 

"Witcher. What a pleasure to see you while I'm fully dressed." There was a light laugh to her tone. "How does the day find you?" 

Geralt was at a loss again, whatever he was expecting of her, this was not it. After a pause he managed to spit out a terse "Fine."

"Well that's good to hear, you do look awfully tense though. Perhaps you might find a massage would do you some good." She spoke it so casually, innocently. As though not a single dirty implication hid beyond the words. "From what I understand, that _lovely_ bard friend of yours is _quite_ fond of them. I'm sure if you asked, he would be more than happy to point you in the right direction. Or maybe just indulge you _himself_."

The last of her words were purred out, the joy at Geralt's growing discomfort seeping through. 

"Hmm, tell you what, I may know a way to help with that actually." The woman had the audacity to look thoughtful. "Yes. Tomorrow evening, just past sunset. Third door down from yours and across the hall. Don't bother to knock. I'll make sure he has everything he needs." 

There was a wink and before Geralt could form the words to question her, she was off, arm linked with the other woman's and swaying her hips through the throng. 

Dumbfounded. That was the only word for it. What in the actual Hell _was_ that?

**Author's Note:**

> I have a problem. A very Witchery problem. Help keep me addicted.
> 
> Arianissa x
> 
> P.S. Thanks to my Wabbit for titling this shit <3


End file.
